The Comte de Pralines, with his shiny hat very much on the back of his head, put down his reins, shoved his crop under his knee, and got out his cigarette case.
"Well," he began philosophically, striking a match, "our luck ain't in——!"
He broke off, the match went out, and a lively glow suffused his unsheltered countenance.
"Vous voyez mon cher—" he resumed, very rapidly. "J'ai appris quelques petits mots——"
"What a lovely English accent he has!" interrupted Miss McRory rapturously; "it's a lot nicer than his French one. To look at him you'd never think he was so clever. It's a pity he wouldn't try to pick up a little more."
"Now, that's hitting a man when he's down," said the Comte de Pralines. "I want some one to be kind to me. I've had a poor day of it; no one would talk to me. I stampeded them wherever I went."
"I didn't notice Miss McRory stampeding to any great extent," I said.
"Wait awhile!" rejoined Miss McRory. "Maybe the stampeding will be going the other way when you and he meet Lady Knox!"
"I shan't wait an instant," said the Comte de Pralines, "you and Major Yeates will explain."
The horses had been moving on, and the covert was again in sight, about a quarter of a mile away on our left. There was nothing to be seen, but hounds were hunting again in the demesne; their cry drove on through the woods inside the grey demesne wall; they were hunting in a body, and they were hunting hard.